


meu amor

by romanfunkboy



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Disturbing Themes, M/M, Nightmares, Psychological Horror, dark themes, may be supernatural, may not be, no beta we die like men, talk of death, up to interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29514120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanfunkboy/pseuds/romanfunkboy
Summary: you're not him
Relationships: Alain Prost/Ayrton Senna, Nelson Piquet/Alain Prost (one sided)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	meu amor

He sees him in his dreams. He would jerk upright in his bed, cold and clammy with damp sweat. In the blackness of his room, he stands at the furthest wall facing Alain in his bed. Alain can barely make out the blue overalls as he stood in the shadows. He can see the familiar silhouette, the outline of his curls under the ever present blue cap. But Alain cannot see anything above his shoulders, his face shrouded in the darkness. They would stare at each other, time stretching on and on, Alain frozen and him silent. Until finally, the figure would shudder, as though taking in a long breath after waking from a deep slumber. 

“Alain,” the figure whispers, the familiar halting accent fills the room. 

Then suddenly, the figure’s head jerks back, a sickening crack assaults Alain ears and the figure slumps to the ground. 

As always, Alain would wake in his bed again but this time in reality, the sunlight luminating the room. And as always, there is no one at the furthest wall. 

\---

Nelson always looks sullen whenever Alain speaks about Ayrton so he stops talking about him. 

But even then, Nelson seems to know Alain is thinking of him when he is silent. He sends Alain a betrayed hurt look. 

“What?” Alain asks, even when he knows why Nelson is upset. 

Nelson shakes his head and smiles bitterly, “Even in death, I get bested by him.”

Alain pretends to not understand. He understands.

\---

One day the dreams change. Alain doesn’t know why or what caused the change but this time he sees Ayrton clearly. His room is still dark but Ayrton is there. He isn’t glowing per se but he looked like he stepped out of a photograph, one where the sun was shining upon his golden freckled face. He is smiling softly, his edges of his eyes crinkling and his lips quirked at the tips. His gaze however never lost the same intensity. 

Alain’s throat constricts. He doesn’t remember a time when Ayrton looked at him like that. Maybe once when Ayrton was with Toleman, a young boy with stars in his eyes, eager to please and befriend. 

“Ayrton,” Alain hears his broken voice call out. 

Ayrton steps forward to Alain’s bedside and reaches out to grip his hand. It surprisingly feels warm. 

“Go to sleep, Alain. You must be tired,” the Brazilian spoke, his voice deep and reassuring. 

Alain lies back down and turns away from Ayrton. His hand was awkwardly stretched across his shoulders behind him, still held in Ayrton’s warm grip. 

He drifts off. 

\---

Every night he dreams of a smiling Ayrton at his bedside, telling him to sleep and holding his hand. 

He cannot tell if this is a dream or a nightmare.

\---

“You are not Ayrton,” he accuses the man one night before he can take hold of Alain’s hand. 

Ayrton continues smiling at him. 

“Ayrton was passionate. He was ruthless. He was cruel. He hated me.” 

Ayrton continues smiling at him and reaches out for his hand. 

Alain grabs hold of it and tugs harshly, pulling the man, ghost, apparition, imposter, he doesn’t know, towards him. Ayrton stumbles on top of him and Alain flips their position, sitting on top of him and pushing his shoulders down onto his mattress. Ayrton laughs gently and reaches up to stroke Alain’s curls with one hand, his fingers brushing over the tip of Alain’s left ear. 

“I don’t hate you, Alain.” he says plainly. 

Alain feels his face crumble and he lays on top of Ayrton, holding him tight around his neck. Ayrton pets his hair and makes soothing soft noises in his ear. 

“ _Meu amor, meu amor, meu amor, meu amor._ ” Ayrton whispers in the dark. 

Alain cries himself to sleep in the crook of Ayrton’s neck. 

\---

“You look like shit,” Nelson says. 

Alain rolls his eyes and retorts, “You think I always look like shit.”

Nelson grins, “Yes but you look more shit recently.”

Alain gives him a good natured shove but he looks away, lost in thought. 

Nelson frowns.

\---

“You are not him. He is dead. He’s gone. Forever.” Alain sobs wetly into not-Ayrton’s shoulder. 

Ayrton doesn’t reply and continues to stroke his back soothingly. 

“You hear me? You’re not him.” Alain sits up. 

This Ayrton is too kind, too gentle. The real Ayrton bites, snarls and scratches. He calls Alain a coward to the press, runs into his car at 160 mph, and he is unrepentant. Alain knows Ayrton would not be gentle to him. 

A small part of him thinks maybe Ayrton wanted to be gentle. He thinks of the shy phone calls in the middle of the night, the static making Ayrton’s voice sound shaky over the long distance call, or maybe Ayrton really was nervous. He talked about improving safety and asked for advice. He pleaded for Alain to come back to race. Alain thinks maybe he was pushing Ayrton away because he was afraid of the tentative blossoming relationship. He suppresses that thought. 

Ayrton reaches up and pulls Alain back down with a hand on the back of his neck. Alain lays his head on top of Ayrton’s chest, his ear pressed against the sternum. He hears nothing. 

Ayrton strokes his hair again.

_ Meu amor, meu amor, meu amor.  _

\---

Nelson was complaining about his car for his Le Mans race. Alain tuned out halfway, staring out at the yard watching Nico and Nelsinho awkwardly get to know each other, being forced to hang out together since their fathers are friends.

“ _Meu amor_ ,” a voice whispers in his ear in a distinctive Brazilian accent. 

Alain jumps in his chair, and whips around to stare at Nelson. 

“What did you just say?” 

“I actually stopped talking ages ago when I noticed you weren’t listening,” Nelson snorted, his mouth full of tea cakes they were having along with tea. 

“Right,” Alain mumbles, looking away and at the two boys observing some insect in the grass. 

\---

Alain sits up and this time, when Ayrton tries to pull him down he resists by bracing his hands against his chest. 

“I want to know if you are real,” Alain says as he starts to unzip Ayrton’s blue racing suit. Ayrton passively helps himself out of the suit, pulling his arms out of the sleeves and wiggling until the suit bunches down at this waist, exposing his torso. 

Alain stares at the tanned skin dotted with numerous freckles. He runs his hand across Ayrton’s pecs and rakes his fingers through his thick chest hair. Ayrton merely smiles at him, running his hands up and down Alain’s thighs that were braced on either side of his hips. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to see Ayrton smiling that grin that was never for Alain, never seen by Alain, and never deserved by Alain. He lunges forward and wraps his hands around Ayrton’s neck. 

“You’re not him,” Alain grits out, squeezing his hands impossibly tight. 

Ayrton doesn’t seem to choke or struggle. He doesn’t even seem to need to breathe in fact. Nevertheless his eyes darken and his brow lowers, his trademark intense glare taking over his face. Memories came rushing back to Alain at this familiar sight and before he could react, Ayrton flipped their position. Alain’s breath is knocked out of his chest and Ayrton pushes down on his upper arms hard. Wincing from the pain, Alain looks up at the figure on top of him, his face twisted in the same scowl he sees Ayrton wear every time he walks into the same room as Alain. The Brazilian’s fingers were ice cold, digging harshly into the flesh of Alain’s biceps. 

“You are a coward, Prost,” Ayrton snarls, leaning down to bite painfully on Alain’s jaw. 

Alain trembles under him, helplessly pinned by Ayrton’s strength. He realizes he is also hard in his boxer shorts. 

“You are a fool, all you knew to do is to run, running away like a coward,” Ayrton angrily scowls in the crook of Alain’s neck as he grinds his hips against the smaller man. 

This was what Alain was used to. Ayrton angry, vindictive, vengeful. He bucks his hips up against Ayrton, seeking more friction. Together they rut like animals, Ayrton pinning Alain harder and harder into the mattress. 

Suddenly Ayrton wraps his arms around Alain’s shoulders and pulls him close. “You ran away because you were afraid of what you felt towards me.”

Alain freezes and tries to pull away. “Get off me.”

“You were comfortable with the idea of me as the villain in your story. You refused to see me as anything else. Deep down you knew the me you chose to see was different to what I truly was.”

“Ayrton, get off me now.” Ayrton holds him tighter, never stopping the movement of his hips

“I was gentle. I could have been gentle Alain,” Ayrton whispers in Alain’s ear, kissing his ear lobe. 

Alain whines as pleasure builds up in his abdomen. He pants into Ayrton’s shoulder. 

“I could have been gentle and kind. And you refused to see that Alain, because you were too scared to realise that you were in love with me.” 

Whimpering, Alain shakes as he climaxes, his hips jerking erratically against Ayrton. Ayrton kisses his gasping mouth, his lips cold and blue. His tongue pushed into Alain’s mouth, and it was cold too. It was like having a slimy fish in his mouth.

Ayrton sits up and runs his clammy hands up Alain’s thighs. His face now mottled with bruises and grey, like that of a corpse. His skull was dented inwards on one side, like someone took a hammer and brought it down upon his head. Alain cries, his tears leaking from the sides of his eyes. 

Ayrton smiles and his skin stretches stiffly across his cheekbones like leather. He lays on top of Alain and strokes his tear stained cheeks lovingly. When he speaks, his breath smells putrid and rotten. 

“ _Meu amor, meu amor, meu amor_.”

\---

Alain never dreams of Ayrton again.

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by this lovely animation by a korean artist. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4_Mc_1SNQw
> 
> warning for horror imagery and violence but u made it to the end of this fic, its natural the inspiration would also be squicky
> 
> i have another prosenna fic halfway written but im bad with writing bc im so flaky hahaha


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